Un-Mate

Draco hid from Harry the remainder of the weekend, even going as far to feign sleep with a book over his face for several minutes when Harry came into the sleeping dormitory to look for him, receiving a knowing look from Neville Longbottom before he quickly fled the room.

Draco had managed to slope his way around the castle all Sunday, ducking into the Great Hall to grab some food to shove into his pockets before continuing his winding journey along the hallways and stairs.

Draco wasn’t even entirely sure why he was avoiding the dark-haired man; there wasn’t any seething animosity present and their encounter the day before hadn’t been horrible by any means, but there was a strange, sticky emotion stuck to the inside of his chest, like small strings of honey laced in the smell of a sun-stroked oak forest.

Dipping his head quickly, Draco slid himself to the very end of the long bench at the side of the Eighth year table closest to the large double doors. Tonight’s dinner was large trays of roasted duck and a healthy assortment of seasoned root vegetables. Humming to himself, Draco heaped some of the food onto his plate, sticking a knife and fork into his back pocket and making to escape the way he had come.

Draco baulked however as the figure of Neville Longbottom came to slide beside him at the edge of the long bench, giving him an obnoxiously serene smile as his elbow gave Draco’s a nudge.

“Do you mind scooting down a bit Draco?” asked Neville cheerily, gesturing to the large gap between him and the crowd consisting of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

“I was actually leaving,” remarked Draco, again making to escape and lifting his leg to draw it over the bench.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’ll create more work for the house elves if you leave dirty dishes and cutlery around the castle,” stated Hermione as she came to sit across from Draco, an annoyingly smug Ron Weasley sliding in directly beside her.

“Plus, if you leave now, you’ll have us thinking you’re avoiding someone,” adjoined Ron before giving a short knowing nod to someone behind Draco.

“Why on earth would I feel the need to avoid any of you,” scoffed Draco without any serious bite.

“No idea, but since you’ve spent majority of the day apparently cataloguing the castle inside and out, I figured it’d be better to be safe than sorry,” said Harry as he broached himself over the bench, directly to Draco’s other side, successfully boxing him into their Gryffindor group.

“Insufferable, the lot of you,” stated Draco, awkwardly swivelling to place both legs on the same side of the bench again and his plate back flat on the table.

“What’s that about?” came the slightly raised voice down the table as the group sitting at the other end noticed their group. Draco looked over the faces, seeing the same disgruntled indignation on most of them, some disinterest squeezed between and a few more inquisitive looks on the rest.

“Roasted duck by the looks of it,” called back Ron, gesturing emphatically to the seasoned bird in front of him.

There was a scoff and a few murmured words; an uneasy silence settling over the two groups as nothing further was said.

Draco looked boredly at Ron, flipping his fork in his fingers, “I suppose we have Granger to thank for your slightly quicker tongue,” he remarked sending one quick look down the table.

“I’ll take the compliment,” shrugged Ron as Draco spied Hermione’s quiet smile and Harry’s short, quick laugh.

Draco sighed, settling himself in as Neville started talking about Quidditch with Ron who appeared to attempting to rid the entire table of food by Draco’s calculations, Hermione pulling out a small book to sit beside her modest dinner.

Slowly filling his fork, Draco stared at it, unsure he really was as hungry enough to remain here at the table, his left leg bouncing quickly under the table as he blocked out the conversation beside him.

Breathing deeply, he moved to slowly bring the fork to his mouth but was met with an overwhelming awareness of the man beside him. Harry hadn’t said anything to him, instead having piled his plate and pulled out a slightly falling apart copy of the monthly Quidditch magazine folded over itself.

The forkful of food faltered as Draco’s eyes stuck of the edge of Harry’s jaw, the soft bristle of dark stubble moving as the man opened his mouth slowly, eyes obviously not paying attention the food, and slowly chewed. Muscles tightening and moving caused small ripples under the skin of his cheek, the apple of his throat bobbing gently as he swallowed.

The scent of a warm summer night tingled at the end of his nose as Draco’s whole left side radiated with the heat of having Harry so close. Breaths short and sharp quaked out between his lips as his focus zeroed in even more; lips coated in a small sheen of fat from the roasted meat, a small scar at the underside of his chin that stretched and the slow descent of stubble down his neck to where a small gland thrummed at the base of his throat.

Draco’s hand dropped the fork, though he couldn’t tell if it made a noise at all, instead his fingers unconsciously scratched at the side of his own neck, directly against his own pulsing gland.

“Draco?”

Draco’s attention widened sharply, and he unconsciously tried to pull back from the overwhelming barrage of the world as it flooded into focus.

“Fuck,” swore Draco, as he half fell off the back of the bench, his right leg up at an odd angle whilst his left leg was steadied by the scorching hot touch of Harry’s hand, stabilising him from completely toppling backwards.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, you looked like you were dozing off,” stated Hermione as Draco felt himself be pushed upwards from his back.

Wincing Draco dropped his gaze to the table, needing a reprieve from the candle lights floating above in the ceiling.

“It’s fine, I was just-“ started Draco, pressing a palm hard against his left temple and squeezing his eyes, “Do the candles really need to be so bright in here?!” His words were louder than intended and he felt, more than heard, the hush that flew up to the other side of the table.

There was low whistle made from the end and a few bouts of laughter afterward as Draco hurriedly pushed his plate of food away.

“I don’t think they’re any brighter than usual,” remarked Hermione slowly, giving Harry a quick glance before scowling up at the other end of the table.

“They are a bit bright,” stated Harry, ignoring the stares that Draco could feel itching on his skin, “Might be best if dinner was had in a quieter location.”

Draco blinked slowly, rubbing at his eyes as he stood to quickly, almost throwing himself back over the bench again.

“I’m leaving,” he remarked, trying to remove himself from the cage of wood and bodies.

“There’s an unused classroom on the first floor, second left,” advised Neville, not looking up from his own food.

Draco didn’t care to listen to anymore as he rose and quickly scooted around the open double doors. As soon as he was far enough away that he didn’t feel as though his eyes were being fried, he dropped himself against the cold stone wall and slid to the ground.

It took only a moment before there was two plates sitting beside him on the ground and he was again saturated through with warm.

“Draco?” asked Harry gently, his hands coming up to pull Draco’s fisted hands away from his face, “You alright?”

Draco scoffed and then choked a little, “I’m fine, I just didn’t want to be drowned in Gryffindor hormones any longer." The words were meant to be acrid on his tongue but instead they dropped lifeless between them.

“Of course, wouldn’t want you to get our germs after all,” countered Harry, non-plussed.

Draco looked up, his eyes catching in Harry’s jewel-green stare as his breath faltered. Warmth pumped slowly through him, surging as it moved through his abdomen and then continuing until he was overtly glad of his bare feet on the stone floor.

“I’m too hot,” whispered Draco.

“And you don’t like lights either,” finished Harry, barely blinking as he drank in Draco’s image.

“Why are you doing this?” asked Draco softly, hands trembling as Harry’s grasp remained on his wrists.

“I don’t know,” replied Harry gently letting Draco’s arms go and in front of him on the ground.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” whispered Draco, barely able to hear the words himself.

“I don’t believe you.”

Harry gave Draco one more long look before gently picking up his plate and walking off, not in the direction of the Great Hall, but towards the staircase.

Draco’s eyes followed him as far as they could before he was swallowed by the moving architecture.